


For the Greater Good

by QuilSniv



Series: Tales from the Friendly Neighborhood [2]
Category: Iron Man (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied Carol/Jess - Freeform, Mighty Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuilSniv/pseuds/QuilSniv
Summary: Prose set in the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man universe.One year before the start of Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, Iron Man reflects on his childhood. On Stamford, and everything that's come afterward. How Steve took his team and Spider-Man chose the single worst moment to be selfish. How they were lucky to avoid a civil war by a sliver of a lack of common sense.It's here, in a Quinjet sitting in a hangar, that Tony chooses to reflect on his past and contemplate his vices, a bottle of alcohol his only companion.





	For the Greater Good

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written and edited by Duke Pome, a mutual collaborator for upcoming projects.

“Fuck you, dad.”

Those words came very easily to Tony; always had, always would. Why wouldn’t they? After all, they were justified. To the rest of the world, Howard Stark was an innovator; an inventor, a man who helped built the foundation of modern engineering and man’s understanding of the universe. 

Yet, Tony knew who, or rather what, Howard really was. 

Howard Stark was a total and utter piece of shit. 

A shit father who couldn’t stand his son’s intelligence and a shit husband who didn’t understand the value of his wife’s charity. 

As he gazed at the bottle of Jamerson he poured for himself, Tony couldn’t help but smirk. If there was one thing he would crow about if he and his dad ever did meet again in this life or the next, it would be that he was not his father. That he was better than his father. That despite all the things that his dad, Stane, Steve, Peter (Goddamn his soul) and all his other enemies and allies had done to him, Tony Stark was a good person. 

He didn’t split like Peter did when it looked like everything would crash down on his head. He didn’t hide underground like Steve did the moment it looked like the world wasn’t going to do as he said for once. No, Tony did what neither Steve, Peter or his dad ever did. 

He adapted, and he did it well. 

He knew that SHRA was going to pass. He didn’t like it; in fact, he hated it. The system of government was corrupt, especially regarding superhumans. While he had suspicions for a long while, Tony truly realized just how bad it was ever since Fury had tried to screw him out of his own company, Tony realized that. All his other brushes against the law and government (Two things which weren’t mutually exclusive) just confirmed that.

Still, he’d fought throw it all. Despite Stamford, the SHRA, the Schism and everything else, here he was. As both Tony and Iron Man. An intentional hero. The leader of the Avengers. The Director of SHIELD. 

Steve kept talking about perspective. About how one needed to sacrifice personal happiness for the greater good. How there was a bigger picture than just them? Tony didn’t have an answer, but he was certain Steve would have one. He always did.

As he sat here in the Quinjet after a successful mission, Tony had to say that he had done well. Both in the big picture and the small. 

Sure, the others might be more stable after a mission. Carol was a military woman, no matter how many years she’d been Ms. Marvel, Warbird, Binary or whatever she’d call herself next year. It was easier to separate herself for the mission. T’Challa was the same. Although he wasn’t a soldier, the training he’d gone through, both mentally and physically, to become a king seemed to make him impervious to the aftereffects of a mission. Likewise, with Vision, the machine whose mind and body were so strong that fear and doubt were almost impossibilities. Jessica also seemed to be fine, though Tony wouldn’t be willing to bet money on it.

From a bigger picture though, Tony would say that compared to his friends he was fantastic. Sure, he might have grown up in the wrong way, but the result of his experience wasn’t as bad as the various results of his friends. Carol had been screwed over in the mental and physical sense and was always verging on becoming a complete train wreck. At this point, he was pretty sure that her PR manager was the only thing keeping her together. T’Challa ruled a kingdom which despite all its advancements seemed ready to go to war at any second. Jessica had been an assassin; a terrorist and god knows what else. Vision had a family tree so full of dysfunction that it put the Summers family to shame.

Tony would be the first to admit he’d made some mistakes along the way. Despite all that, he was doing fine. In fact, he was doing both good and well. He’d practiced what Steve had always preached. He’d put things into perspective and as a result, the world was better and safer for everyone in it. He hadn’t run off or abandoned his friends. He stuck through right to the bitter, no matter what it cost him. 

So, as he sat in the Quinjet, its autopilot returning it to the hangar all alone, he contemplated the glass of amber liquid. 

He was an alcoholic. No way around that. It was why he did this little ritual every day that he could. 

The ritual was him sitting alone for a good hour with a glass of booze. After an hour, when he hadn’t taken a single sip he would stand and pour both the glass and bottle down the drain. To prove to everyone that he could beat it. Yet, today alcoholism’s voice didn’t whisper. It spoke to him, pulling at him. It ordered, it suggested, it demanded that he take a sip. 

Tonight, more so than any other night, it seemed right. 

Finally, Tony could take it no more. He grabbed the glass and drained it. Straight down his throat. In the next thirty minutes, the rest of the bottle’s contents went the same way.

Everyone else was allowed their vices. Carol and Jessica were both train wrecks and in denial about their probable mutual feelings that both were probably having adventures with Aslan. T’Challa was allowed his moments of weakness, to take off his crown, either by choice or in the five seconds peace after one of the many coups Wakanda suffered. Vision, well, Tony didn’t know what Vision did to unwind, but he imagined it couldn’t be healthy.

So, why shouldn’t he be allowed this?

A small voice, what Tony imagined to be his conscience, which sounded very much like Rhodey whispered.

“You are an alcoholic.”

But Tony ignored it.

He could talk to Carol about it. Mutual experience and all that. No, his mind whispered to him. He wanted this. He needed this.

He needed something. He needed to unwind somehow, or he would blow up. If drinking did that, so be it. 

It was for the greater good, after all.


End file.
